


The Lives of Humans and Monsters

by ThatSameSong



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Female Chara (Undertale), Friendship, Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Teenagers, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSameSong/pseuds/ThatSameSong
Summary: Chara has been living rough for most of her life, surviving as best she can with the help of the skeleton brothers who took her in at a young age.  With no one around to empathize with her specific struggles, she's used to being an outcast.  But Frisk is different.  Frisk actually understands what it's like to be treated differently and some of the unfortunate struggles that come with such a unique upbringing.  Through exploration of each others' lives, Frisk and Chara slowly come to realize what it means to be a human raised by monsters.





	1. Part 1:  Humans

**Author's Note:**

> A story borne from my attempts at creating my own Undertale AU. This is mostly going to be unrelated drabbles, but there will be a linear story as well.
> 
> Note: In this AU, Sans and Papyrus are replaced by their Underfell counterparts. All other characters (Toriel, Asgore, etc.), are the same as in the base universe.

The aroma—a rancid combination of cigarette smoke and cheap booze—choked Frisk's senses. Thin lips parted to reveal a set of stained teeth.

“Need help getting home?”

The voice was a deep growl strained by years of reckless smoking. The eyes had a rather vacant quality to them, as if the guy wasn't entirely in the moment. Unfortunately, he was aware enough to be smirking like a demented clown.

A series of chuckles rose from the group. It was all guys as young as sixteen or as old as eighteen, all wearing the same malicious grins. Frisk had never seen any of them before, but that scarcely mattered. They couldn't see this situation playing out differently if they'd been on intimate terms with any of these boys.

The boy in front—he must have been at least eighteen—leaned forward, blowing another foul breath into Frisk's face. He smirked as Frisk automatically recoiled from the stench. He was shorter than the others, but he had the air of being in charge.

“What's wrong?” the boy said. “You fucking scared?”

The others laughed. They had started to close in, steadily forcing Frisk to back away.

Frisk felt the cold brick wall against their back. They were perspiring, their backpack pressed against their chest. They could feel the weight of their books and the uneaten lunch Toriel had packed them.

The ringleader—as he'd become in Frisk's head—chuckled. Whatever he expected to come next, he clearly intended to enjoy it.

“Why don't you get your freaky family to save you?” he taunted.

Frisk could feel a tight ball of condensed fright and anger expanding in their chest. Of course it wasn't random. Of course these guys hadn't just seen Frisk walking home alone and decided to harass them for no reason. It always led back to that.

“Hey,” said one of the other boys. “I heard your mom eats babies.”

The others burst out laughing, although Frisk hardly flinched at the familiar insult. But they did inadvertently drop their backpack as the circle continued to close in. The release of this one physical weight seemed to center them a little. They fully realized just how screwed they were. No escape.

“Does she?” said the ringleader. “Does your mom eat babies?”

Replying was useless, but Frisk shook their head anyway. They just wanted to run. Run and keep running until they were within stone-throwing distance of their house. But it didn't look like that was going to happen.

“So what are you?” the ringleader went on. “Are you, like, half-monster or something?”

The others snickered.

Frisk shook their head again, staring at a point over the ringleader's shoulder. As far as they could see, no one was coming. Their phone was buried in their backpack among papers and pencils. Maybe they could grab it, but Frisk was too scared to move. It was like being a mouse in a cage full of lions. One bad decision and the hunt was officially on.

“Are you even half-human?” said one of the others. “What are you?”

The ringleader leaned forward, placing himself practically nose to nose with Frisk. Frisk could smell every cloud of smoke he'd ever inhaled and every cheap beer he'd ever drank. The guy was like a coal shoot crossed with a brewery.

“Are you a boy or a girl?” said the ringleader.

Frisk shrank back, trying—and unfortunately failing—to fuse with the wall. Maybe if they somehow became one with the bricks, the boys would leave them alone.

“Guess we'll just have to find out,” said the ringleader.

He reached forward and grabbed Frisk's sweater. He balled up the material in his fist, shoving his filthy fingers into the softness. He grinned wider as Frisk attempted—and failed—to pull away from him. In reply, the ringleader pulled harder, stretching the material. It was strong stuff. Toriel didn't mess around when it came to knitting. But it wasn't asshole-proof and Frisk knew it.

Frisk went completely still. They watched helplessly, torn being a childish desire to keep their sweater intact—Toriel had made it with love—and a more pressing desire to get away from their tormentors. These competing wants snagged on each other, causing Frisk to freeze.

“Excuse me.”

The voice—polite and rather quiet—seemed to briefly stop time. Maybe it was the surprise, maybe it was mild panic caused by a deeply ingrained fear of punishment.

Standing a few feet away was a girl. She had somehow slipped onto the scene without making any noise. She was about Frisk's height and build, although she looked a bit more athletic. The girl even had the same shoulder-length brown hair. However, there was something authoritative in her eyes.

The girl smiled. Her hands were buried in the pockets of her leather jacket and there was a lit cigarette clamped between her teeth.

The ringleader quickly recovered from the unexpected interloper. Now that he saw it wasn't a cop or a teacher, any fear he might have felt turned to anger. The ringleader let go of Frisk and turned fully to face the girl.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said.

Before the mysterious girl could answer, the ringleader's eyes lit up with recognition. His angry frown morphed into a massive grin.

“Oh, you're that bitch who fucks monsters,” he said. “Don't tell me you two freaks are friends?”

The girl paid no heed to the intimidating stares being thrown at her. She stepped forward, hands still stuffed into her pockets. She blew out a puff of smoke, advancing deeper into the circle. If the girl was afraid, she had a funny way of showing it. It was like this was business as usual.

“Look, I'm tired,” said the girl. “So how about you dickheads just run home?”

The ringleader stepped towards her. The girl had an inch or so on him, but they were evenly matched from an authority standpoint. He was trying his best to frighten the girl, but his best stare was doing nothing. The more he cranked up the intimidation, the less impressed the girl seemed.

“How about we don't?” the ringleader said.

The gang was closing in around the newcomer. Their focus had left Frisk completely. Frisk was the perfect target for them, but they all knew the stories about Chara the Human. Stories that made their blood rush in a variety of different ways.

Chara sighed in frustration, as if this entire thing was just a pain in her ass. She plucked the cigarette out of her mouth and let it fall from her fingers. Chara ground out the cigarette under her boot, her eyes on the smirking ringleader.

“Your choice,” she said.

She pulled her arm back, her expression unchanging. With hardly a warning, she buried her fist into the ringleader's smug face.

The ringleader's head snapped back at the impact, his eyes wide with shock. Blood burst from his nose and spilled down his chin. Before he could react, a foot had slammed into his stomach. A harsh breath spilled from him as he bent over in pain.

Chara's face remained impassive throughout this. Maybe this was business as usual.

“Pathetic,” she commented.

Two of the other boys advanced on her, their fists raised. Bad move on their part.

Chara casually dodged the first attack, then rammed her fist into the first boy's throat. As the boy uttered a choked gasp, she grabbed the other boy by his arm. She twisted his arm behind his back and slammed him against the nearest wall.

“Having fun?” Chara said.

Another boy charged forward and grabbed her by the hair. He yanked her head back, but she didn't cry out. Chara's serene expression barely shifted as her head was forced backwards. It wasn't clear what exactly he was trying to do. Make her cry out—which she probably wasn't going to—or snap her neck?

“Oh, _honestly_.”

Someone new had arrived to the party. Two new people in fact. Two people had stepped into the alleyway. One of them was tall—and wearing high-heeled boots—and the other was short.

One of the boys started to tell the newcomers to piss off, but the words froze in his throat. He abruptly noticed—they all noticed—that these new arrivals weren't human.

The tall skeleton came storming into the alleyway. The sight of him was enough to get the boys scrambling. Even the one holding Chara's hair backed off, letting go and quickly retreating as the skeleton approached. Any control the boys had over the situation instantly shattered.

The short skeleton followed. He was grinning, showing off his sharp teeth to those assembled. A single gold tooth glinted in the midst of his pearly white smile. Similar to Chara, his hands were stuffed into his pockets. The short skeleton shot a grin at one of the closest boys, causing him to jump back in fear.

“Which one of you filthy humans is responsible for this?” the tall skeleton demanded.

Chara shoved her hand into her pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. She stuck one in her mouth, then withdrew a lighter from the same pocket. She spoke casually, squeezing the words past her cigarette.

“Thanks Pap,” she said.

“Pap”--better known as Papyrus—ignored Chara. He had his hands on his hips, an accusing glare aimed at the assembled boys. He was tapping his foot impatiently, clearly expecting some kind of answer or explanation.

One of the boys—the tallest in fact—approached Papyrus. Unfortunately, he was only about an inch shy of Papyrus's rib cage. Even if Papyrus hadn't been wearing those boots, he would have still been immensely tall compared to the assembled boys. From a height perspective, the boy was at a disadvantage if he was going for sheer physical intimidation.

“So the monster fucker got her monster boyfriend...,” the boy started.

Rather casually, Papyrus grabbed the boy by the throat and pressed him against the wall.

“The Great and Terrible Papyrus doesn't appreciate your language,” he said.

The short skeleton hadn't moved. He was looking around, treating each boy to his shark-like grin in turn. Even though everyone was taller than him, none of the boys were trying to start something with him. One of the best decisions they'd made that day.

Frisk had picked up their backpack, but they hadn't fled.

“Be careful, Boss,” said the short skeleton. “You don't wanna kill the little shit.”

Papyrus reluctantly loosened his grip on the boy's neck.

“Ah yes,” he said. “You humans are so fragile. How pathetic. You're lucky Sans was here to remind me.”

He let go of the boy. He looked disgusted, as if he'd been holding some kind of insect. Papyrus's expression made it clear that he wouldn't be tolerating any bullshit. This was fortunate, as the boys had completely run out of steam.

The boys hastily made their second good decision of the day. They got the hell out of there. Without looking back, the boys scattered like rats. The ringleader was the last to make a quick retreat to safety. Frisk doubted any of them would be coming back.

Sans waved at the retreating boys, although he was sure none of them looked back.

Frisk looked at Chara. They were more grateful than they could ever express.

Chara pulled the cigarette from her mouth and blew out a cloud of smoke. Frisk had assumed she was a grown woman, but they realized that Chara was more in their age range. Her features and mannerisms seemed to indicate someone younger than twenty. But Frisk was a hundred percent sure that Chara didn't go to their school.

“It's fine, kid,” said Chara. “Just watch your back next time. I'm not your guardian angel.”

Papyrus and Sans were leaving. Neither looked to see if Chara was following them.

She wasn't. She was leaning against a wall, cigarette between her teeth and hands buried in her pockets. She looked like a perfect example of not giving a crap. Chara didn't look like a girl who'd almost beaten the shit out of several guys.

“We're not friends or anything,” Chara said. “I hope you understand that. But I've been in a situation like that before. I know how bad it can get.”

She laughed bitterly.

“Believe me,” she said. “There are worse things than being called “monster fucker”.”

Chara said the title casually, even though there was no truth to it. She actually grinned as the words left her mouth, like she was proud of her undeserved nickname.

“When assholes try to bring you down with shit like that, wear it like a fucking prize,” she said.

She pulled the cigarette from between her lips and threw it to the ground. She shoved her boot over it, grinding it out against the bricks. Chara gave Frisk a brief wave before leaving. She stepped out of the alleyway to join Sans and Papyrus on the sidewalk. She could have looked back, but she didn't.

Alone, Frisk clutched the backpack as if it was their lifeline. They weren't sure whether they'd made a friend or not.

* * *

As Chara walked home with Sans and Papyrus, her thoughts turned towards Frisk.

What a weird kid. Kind of small and scrawny for their age. Then again, Chara was pitting Frisk against herself in that department. She knew she was a built a lot more sturdy than the average teenager. She had to be, with the life she'd lived.

But still, there was something about Frisk that Chara found intriguing. She had never met someone who could even slightly understand her life. Even the therapists had drawn a blank. But Frisk was notably different. Same boat, different captains.

Of course, Frisk had probably never had to endure being called “monster fucker” by a group of snot-nosed idiots. That had basically been Chara's life during her very brief school attendance.

The nickname had sprung from a rumor. Once everyone found out that Chara was being cared for by two monsters who were rumored to be into some shady stuff, it didn't take long for the mill to start churning. In less than a week, Chara became known as “the weird bitch who dresses in all black and likes to fuck monsters”. It didn't matter that the latter was a complete lie.

Apparently the nickname had followed her all the way from school. Chara wouldn't be surprised if the whole town thought she liked banging monsters. But just as she'd advised Frisk, she'd learned to own her title. Even if it was a complete lie, there was a certain power behind it. Very few people wanted to mess with the girl who had a thing for monsters. Chara's only regret was that neither Sans nor Papyrus deserved that kind of reputation.

The fact that Frisk had probably never gone through any of that sealed it. There was no way Frisk and Chara could ever be friends. Not if Chara had any say in the matter.

Chara stuck yet another cigarette into her mouth.

It was sort of a pity. She actually kind of _liked_ Frisk.


	2. Love Bites

Chara tossed her bag into the living room. It missed the couch by several inches.

“I'm home!” she said.

Sans was lying half-on and half-off the couch, fast asleep. He didn't even flinch at Chara's shout. Typical. Nothing short of a slap in the face could awaken him from his pre-dinner—or post-dinner—nap.

Papyrus was standing in front of the stove, his back to Chara as she came into the kitchen. He was wearing his favorite frilly pink apron—the one that said Pasta Princess—and stirring something. Probably some new pasta dish he'd been itching to try.

“Welcome home,” said Papyrus. “No snacking before dinner. And please pick up your shit.”

Chara had automatically started towards the refrigerator. She stopped, remembering the Number 1 rule of the household. She'd almost forgotten about Papyrus's strict disapproval of pre-meal snacking. He'd been working extra-late all week, so her and Sans had had the rare opportunity to pig out all they wanted.

She grabbed a beer from the cooler in the corner. Technically the beer belonged to Sans—his name was written in a messy scrawl across the front of the cooler—and she wasn't supposed to have one without permission. But technically Sans was asleep on the couch and probably wouldn't notice. Plus he technically owed Chara ten bucks and this seemed like fair compensation.

“How was work?” said Papyrus.

Chara leaned against the counter and shrugged. Papyrus always asked her that question and she rarely had an interesting answer. She thought it was just a needless formality on his part, a cheerful preamble to telling her off for her latest sin. But since Chara hadn't done anything worthy of a lecture that day, the question came off as genuine interest.

“Boring,” she said.

Papyrus dumped whatever he was stirring into a waiting bowl. It looked like some kind of pasta-veggie salad monstrosity.

“It's your turn to set the table,” he said.

Chara sighed. It was always her turn because Sans either mysteriously disappeared or couldn't be awakened when it was his turn. She didn't understand why Papyrus even bothered saying it. Nevertheless, Chara sat her beer on the table and went over to the cupboard.

She grabbed a stack of dishes from the cupboard and returned to the table. She started to set three places, even though Sans might not even join them. If he did, he'd probably fall asleep in his food again.

Papyrus turned to Chara as she bent over the table. He frowned, his eyes zeroing in on Chara's neck. Papyrus thought it was a trick of the light at first, but then he looked a little closer and realized that wasn't the case. He also realized that that hadn't been there before Chara left for work.

“What is that?” he said.

He leaped across the kitchen and grabbed Chara roughly by the shoulder, pulling her closer for a better look. It wasn't a huge mark, but it stuck out. It looked like a bruise, although it didn't resemble any bruise Papyrus had seen before.

“Who is responsible for this?” he demanded.

He just wanted to talk to whoever it was. Of course, he'd be doing most of the talking. The other person would be mostly begging for mercy as the Great and Terrible Papyrus towered over them. It was going to be a very one-sided conversation.

Chara pulled herself out of Papyrus's grip.

“It's just a hickey,” she said.

Papyrus stared at her, flummoxed.

“What the fuck is a hickey?” he said.

Chara hesitated. She tried to figure out how best to explain the concept to him.

“Some people call it a love bite,” she said.

Papyrus's face cleared. He didn't completely get it, but he simply filed it under “Humans Are Weird”. Of course humans would consider literally biting one another to be romantic. Sometimes he wondered why in the world people thought monsters were weird.

“Finish setting the table,” he said.

He went back over to the stove. Then again, biting someone to show sexual or romantic interest did sound kind of fun. Humans had the oddest proclivity for mixing pain and pleasure, something Papyrus sort of understood but also didn't want to. He wondered if any other monsters had encountered this concept of “love bites”. Papyrus would have to ask if he ever got the chance.

Humans were just downright strange. But they had some good ideas.


	3. Making Friends

Chara was awakened by the knocking, but she didn't get out of bed. She just pulled the covers over her head, cursing whatever asshole was banging on the door this early in the morning. She would have scrambled out of bed just to give her unwelcome guest her favorite hand gesture, but someone this dick-ish wasn't even worthy of that.

When it became clear that—as per usual—no one else was going to silence that incessant knocking, Papyrus got out of his chair. Of fucking course he had to do everything.

He practically wrenched the door off its hinges.

“ _What?_ ” he demanded.

One hand was at his hip, while the other clutched the door handle in a threatening grip. Papyrus was prepared to slam the door at a second's notice.

The woman standing there wasn't someone he recognized, but then again there were a lot of humans—in fact, it was mostly humans—in their building. Papyrus couldn't keep track of them all. He did notice that the woman was dressed like she was late for a PTA meeting. That seemed to be a trend with those who chose to bother them, although usually not so early in the morning.

Their visitor looked startled at the sight of Papyrus. This wasn't an abnormal reaction, even for those who knew full well there were two monsters living in the building. The woman's eyes wandered from Papyrus's face and all the way down to his feet.

Despite the early hour—Papyrus was still in his pajamas—he was wearing his usual high-heeled boots. Sans kept insisting the boots indicated Papyrus had some kind of weird complex. Well, screw Sans in the most figurative way. Papyrus knew damn well those boots made him look sexy as fuck.

“U-Um, Karen from the end of the hall,” the woman blurted.

The shock seemed to be wearing off and she was starting to remember why she'd initiated this confrontation.

Papyrus folded his arms and stared at her like that was the least impressive thing he'd ever heard in his entire life.

The fact he didn't reply gave Karen the courage she needed to hold her ground. She even met Papyrus's indifferent stare with one of her own, although only briefly. She could only look into his eye lights for a few seconds before dropping her gaze. She was a little freaked out by that eerie glow—like a single pen light in a dark room—floating in Papyrus's otherwise vacant eye sockets.

“I assume you're Chara's, um, guardian?” she said.

Papyrus nodded stiffly. He didn't really like that title. He preferred the more accurate moniker of “Chara's Sworn Protector and Cool Best Friend”, but that wouldn't fit on a form or on the homemade mug Chara gave him for Christmas.

Karen was starting to adjust her thinking. So Papyrus was Chara's “guardian”. That made him a parent, right? So this was a totally normal parent-to-parent confrontation, the kind she'd had thousands of times before. No problem.

“Please tell that wh--”

Karen smartly stopped herself.

“Um, please tell that hooligan to stay away from my son,” she said.

Papyrus sighed in frustration, his expression turning dark. Karen's confidence visibly dissipated at this shift, but only fifty-percent of Papyrus's anger was aimed at her. This wasn't the first time someone had complained about Chara. He'd heard it all: smoking in the hallway, making lewd gestures at people, listening to loud music at all hours, running around in basically nothing. Papyrus personally had a big problem with how Chara dressed—how could anyone call that armor? More than half of her skin was exposed—but he loathed hearing other people complain about it.

“What did she do?” said Papyrus.

Karen forgot all about her fear. Her voice rose as she explained Chara's latest infraction.

“I believe she's been teaching my son some very bad words,” she said. “I certainly never swear in front of him, but that...girl...is a different story. Swearing like a drunk sailor, running around at all hours of the night, dressing like, well, like a...you know.”

It occurred to her that Papyrus might not know, but she decided not to explain. That wasn't the issue.

“I would appreciate it if you'd at least encourage her to watch her language,” said Karen. “And maybe dress more appropriately. And stop smoking those cigarettes.”

The list of complaints was extensive, but Karen left it there. She didn't need to say anymore. Papyrus suspected Karen would be speaking to management sooner or later. He knew her type far too well. Karen would probably hint at feeling “uncomfortable” about two literal monsters living in the building. Then the threat of getting kicked out would surface, but never amount to anything more than a useless written warning. Same shit, different week.

“I see,” said Papyrus.

Without another word, he closed the door in Karen's face. He was certain she'd make sure to mention this rudeness when she complained to management. But as far as he was concerned, Karen could shove it up her ass. He'd met a hundred Karens in his life and he wasn't scared of them.

Papyrus went to Chara's bedroom and knocked on the door. When she didn't answer, he barged right in. Definitely rude, but Papyrus didn't care and he knew Chara would forgive him within a day.

Chara had her head buried in her pillow. She raised it when Papyrus came in, a groggy look on her face. She'd been drifting between the waking world and the dreamscape ever since the knocking had stopped. Now she was trying to anchor herself as Papyrus rapidly approached the bed.

He stood beside the bed, his arms folded and his expression stern. He waited until he knew she was ninety-percent awake, then he started.

“Karen was just here,” he said. “She said you've been teaching her son swear words.”

Chara shrugged innocently. She hadn't been teaching the kid swear words. She just happened to have dropped a couple of F bombs in front of him and possibly at him. There was a difference.

“Who the fuck cares?” she said.

She wanted it to sound like a joke, but Papyrus didn't even smile.

“This is the seventh time,” he said.

Chara tried to add it up in her head. The seventh time that week or the seventh time that month? It was all the same to her, but she knew Papyrus was tallying up the incidents. If the number reached the double digits, Papyrus might consider an actual form of punishment. Chara didn't see why he cared so much, given his frequent complaints about their neighbors.

“It's not like Karen is going to get us kicked out,” said Chara.

Papyrus sighed.

“Yes, but could you at least try to get along with the people who live so close to us?” he said.

Chara started to protest, but she realized he wasn't asking her to buddy up with Karen. He was just asking her not to go out of her way to cause trouble. And despite what the Karens of the world might think of her, Chara could do that. She didn't get why it was so important to Papyrus, but she could do it.

“No promises,” she said.

It was the best response Papyrus could ask for. At least she didn't tell him to fuck off.

“And stop smoking in the hallway,” said Papyrus.

Chara put her head in her pillow and mumbled something. Papyrus couldn't make out what she said, but he chose to imagine it was agreement. And as there was nothing further for him to say, he decided it was time to leave. Breakfast wasn't going to cook itself.

Before he left, he heard Chara mumble something else into her pillow. It sounded suspiciously like an apology, but Papyrus of course couldn't be sure. He didn't ask.

Alone at last, Chara raised her head. She was going to stop smoking in the hallway, if only to put Papyrus at ease. The whole “getting-along-with-their-fellow-residents” thing would probably be on a case-to-case and mood-to-mood basis. But she was going to try.

 _Speaking of cigarettes_ , Chara thought.

Her eyes wandered to the full pack on her nightstand. For once, she wasn't really in the mood for her morning smoke. Maybe tomorrow.   



	4. Sunflowers

“Daffodils.”

Chara shuffled her feet impatiently. Why was there a fucking _line_? She had places to go, people to see. Didn't anyone care that she was in a hurry?

She looked around the crowded—why was it _crowded_?--shop. There was people everywhere, checking out the displays and talking to one another in hushed voices. Why was everyone trying to be quiet? Did they think they'd scare the flowers?

Chara stuck her earbuds in and closed her eyes. She let herself drift away with the pounding bass and screeching guitar. She tried not to think about how she'd only gotten off work an hour ago. She liked her job a lot better than the one she'd had before—less unfortunate encounters with management—but it was still a pain in the ass. The only thing that made it bearable was fooling around with the other employees during break. Even then, Chara envied people who worked in, for example, flower shops.

“Roses.”

She took her earbuds out and frowned. Despite the loud music, Chara could still hear the guy at the front. She peered around the person standing in front of her, trying to get a good look at whoever wanted roses.

Chara caught a glimpse of the person behind the counter. Brown hair, brown eyes, sweater under their apron. Before Chara could see more, the person in front of her shifted their position and obscured her vision. She flipped off their back, then returned to her music. Whatever. She could wait.

But she also couldn't wait because Papyrus was expecting her home in an hour. He was sure to start bitching if she wasn't there to set the table. Chara couldn't picture herself rolling in before Papyrus started to get mad at her for taking so long. And there was no doubt in Chara's mind that he'd be pissed, even though it was all his fault.

_Flowers for the fucking table_ , she thought.

She'd almost forgotten. If she hadn't passed the flower shop—prompting a quick “Oh shit” and a U-turn—Chara probably would have just gone home. But before she'd left for work that day, Papyrus had stopped her and given her a very simple post-work task. Chara just didn't know why.

Chara looked up. She was next in line. Finally. Only took what felt like seven goddamn hours. Maybe if she was extra lucky—unlikely—she'd actually be home in time to dodge a lecture from Papyrus.

She waited impatiently as the guy in front of her took five minutes outlining exactly what he wanted—some kind of mixed bouquet comprising what must have been every flower in existence—and then paid in cash.

Finally at the front of the line, Chara yanked the earbuds out of her ears and looked up. The grateful smile froze on her face as she locked eyes with the last person she expected to see. Not now. Not in a flower shop of all the places under the sun.

“Frisk?” she said.

She said the name tentatively, like it was fragile. She hadn't thought of Frisk in a while. Frisk was just someone who existed. Chara had bigger stuff on her plate than some kid—and despite the minuscule age gap, she would always think of Frisk as a “kid”--who'd met trouble in an alleyway. But seeing them again, Chara realized that Frisk wasn't just “some kid”. They were special.

Recognition flickered across Frisk's eyes. They smiled, a genuine and welcoming look that made their entire face light up. The smile made Chara appreciate the differences in their appearances and mannerisms. If their roles had been reversed, Chara would have never greeted Frisk with such easy cheerfulness.

“Sunflowers,” she said.

She remembered that she was a customer. A customer who was going to be in big trouble if she didn't get her ass home ten minutes ago.

“A bouquet,” she clarified.

As Frisk nodded and turned away, Chara looked around the shop again. She felt a pang of legitimate envy, comparing and contrasting her own workplace to Frisk's. The place she worked was so lonely, so devoid of personality. But Frisk's workplace was lively, bustling, warm. It was filled with everything Chara didn't know she wanted.

It's not fair, she thought.

Chara eyed Frisk's sweater. Hand-knitted with love. Even with no knowledge of Frisk's home life, she could tell. Someone had poured their heart and soul into that sweater. Someone who thought the world of Frisk, who loved them almost beyond reason and purpose. There were memories stitched into that sweater, an entire history Chara would never be able to live.

She pulled her jacket tighter around herself. A hand-me-down from Sans. Stains that never came out, a stench of mustard that couldn't be conquered by any cheap cleaning product. A present from a long-passed birthday. When Sans had first given her the jacket, it had been way too big for her. Now Chara had grown into it, but somehow it still felt too big for her.

Frisk handed Chara the bouquet. It was pretty nice-looking, although Chara was no expert on flowers. She hadn't seen a sunflower in years. Just holding the bouquet felt strange, like she was reliving some distant memory.

Awkwardly trying to hold onto the bouquet, Chara fumbled her wallet out of her pocket. Like most things she kept in her jacket pockets, the wallet had gone in smelling pretty nice. It now smelled like someone had dipped it in mustard. Such was the power of the almighty jacket.

“Thanks,” said Chara.

She handed Frisk some crumpled bills. She didn't count it—she was in a hurry—but she trusted it was enough. It was all the money Papyrus had yanked out of the jar on the counter and shoved into her hand that morning.

Frisk rang up the sell, then handed Chara her change. The whole time Chara could feel something odd between them. It was like there were words Chara was dying to say and responses Frisk was waiting to give. But for one reason or another, Chara didn't say anything and Frisk only gave a slight nod as they handed over the change. But even after the moment had passed, Chara could feel those words hanging in the air between them like something physical.

“Take care,” said Chara.

She turned and left the shop. She didn't look back as she reached the door. Chara was afraid of seeing disappointment on Frisk's face. She didn't want to think she'd somehow let someone else down. Chara had done a lot of that in her life and it never seemed to get easier.

Out on the sidewalk, Chara made a beeline for her bike. The sight of it brought back that ever-present longing for some actual wheels. Papyrus still wouldn't let her even so much as look at Sans's motorcycle. At least he let Chara put a basket on the bike. That made it slightly less useless in Chara's eyes.

She carefully stuck the bouquet in the basket. Papyrus was going to be mad at her, but at least she'd done what he asked. He'd probably only bitch at her for ten minutes instead of twenty.

As Chara hopped on her bike, a thought came to her. It was something that had flitted across her mind while in the shop. She'd caught it and firmly placed her foot over it, grinding the thought into the dirt like she did with her cigarettes. But it came again, slithering out from under her boot and forcing Chara to pause.

_We're the same._

She considered Frisk. A life as lively as the flowers, memories woven into the fabric of a sweater, bedtime stories, goodnight kisses, birthday parties. A life like a sunflower. Their face always turned towards the sun, the light bright enough to blind Chara but always just warm enough for Frisk.

Chara laughed bitterly. No, her and Frisk weren't the same. They were different sides of the same coin, a familiar story from contrasting viewpoints. They were nothing alike and they could never understand one another. Chara could never understand bedtime stories, goodnight kisses, or birthday parties. And Frisk could probably never understand hand-me-down jackets and eviction notices.

She started heading home. Frisk could have their bedtime stories and birthday parties. Chara didn't care.

But there's something about them, she thought.

She tried to focus on something else. It wasn't hard to find an alternate subject matter: the flowers. Why did Papyrus insist—and this wasn't one of his usual whims—that they have sunflowers? Why did he insist on flowers in the first place? Was he just trying to be a pain in her ass? That seemed more like a Sans thing. Papyrus was more mature than that, even though Chara hated to admit it.

_The last time I saw sunflowers was..._

Chara's thought trailed off as a scene entered her mind. She saw herself—younger, maybe even happier—sitting on Papyrus's lap. She was looking up at his smiling face—she marveled at the fact that he was actually smiling—and he was saying something to her. The words were lost, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that Sans was interrupting, holding something above his head and grinning as her gaze shifted from Papyrus's face to the thing he was holding.

“For you, you little brat,” Sans was saying.

There were sunflowers on the table. Chara didn't know where they came from, but their color stuck out against the drab gray of the filthy walls and floor. Then everything was gone—the walls, the voices, the flowers—as Sans dropped his jacket over Chara's head. Papyrus began shouting—something about how Sans should have at least washed the thing first—but Chara just wrapped herself up in her present. She felt happy. She felt loved.

Chara felt a lump in her throat. Of course. Her birthday. It was her birthday.


	5. Shopping

Papyrus shouted at Sans and Chara to hurry up.

Rolling her eyes, Chara put another box of cereal—some sugary mess with a smirking cartoon vampire on the box—back on the shelf. She loathed how Papyrus was always rushing them, even though he himself was lallygagging in the pasta aisle. Sometimes she wondered if he just liked yelling at the pair of them. Maybe it was lethargic for him.

Sans had been asleep in the cart, but he'd woken up and scampered off a minute ago. Chara had glimpsed him eagerly browsing the condiment aisle for his weekly mustard fix. Chara longed to tell him that Papyrus was seriously considering cutting Sans off. Sans was going through bottles in a day and Papyrus was probably fed up with enabling him.

She moved to another aisle. Chara smirked at the array of dangerously sweet treats that were up for grabs. Sans needed his mustard, she needed her chocolate.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something immense moving past the aisle. Chara turned curiously, her pockets overflowing with candy bars. She saw what looked like a pair of long ears and a broad, furry back.

Inquisitive, Chara darted to the end of the aisle and peered around the shelves. She raised her eyebrows when she saw a huge goat monster talking to an employee. The employee was having trouble keeping their composure. Chara couldn't blame them. Papyrus was all sorts of intimidating even when he was in a good mood. This goat monster was much larger and possibly ten times stronger than Papyrus.

The goat monster was listening politely, her paws clutching the handle of her shopping cart. The sight of its half-obscured contents made Chara's stomach growl. Meat, vegetables, fish, fruit. Actual cereal—not that dull-tasting nonsense Chara ate straight out of the box—and even the junk food Papyrus shouted at Chara for eating.

A person approached the goat monster. They were carrying at least twenty boxes of baking soda. Who could possibly need that much in their day-to-day life?

Chara blinked. _Really?_ But she looked again, leaning forward as best she could to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. Nope, not a delusion. She was actually seeing what she thought she was seeing.

Frisk was standing next to the goat monster, carefully dumping each box of baking soda into the cart. They didn't appear too interested in the conversation happening between the goat lady and the clearly hesitant employee. The first thing Chara noticed was that Frisk was wearing a T-shirt instead of a sweater for once.

Chara had seen Frisk at this supermarket before. She'd also glimpsed the goat lady on occasion, but somehow she had never put two-and-two together. Of course. The goat lady was Frisk's mom.

There was that unfortunate and unwanted pang of envy. Frisk's mom looked so soft. Chara wondered what it would be like to receive a hug from someone who was basically a giant teddy bear. Someone who was sure to radiate warmth and affection in a way Chara couldn't imagine.

The goat lady turned to look at Frisk and spoke a few words. While her back was turned, the employee seized their chance to slink away. Neither Frisk nor Frisk's mom noticed the employee leave, although the latter turned in bemusement to where they had once been.

“What are you gawking at?”

Papyrus had come up behind Chara with the cart. At the sound of his voice, she turned to face him. He looked less pissed off than usual, which probably meant he'd found everything he was looking for.

Chara looked in the cart. Pasta. Loads and loads of it, plus a ton of vegetables—mostly for making pasta sauce—and red wine.

“Nothing,” she said in reply.

Papyrus pulled a torn piece of paper from the pocket of his leather jacket. The official shopping list, penned the previous night. He'd realized about a day too late that they were completely out of food. It was past dinnertime.

“Go and get my lazy brother, will you?” he said.

Chara shrugged, then ran off to find Sans. She could hardly call it “shopping” if she wasn't dragging Sans out of the condiment aisle by his jacket.

 

* * *

 

  
She found Sans drooling over the mustard—there was such a ridiculous variety—and delivered him to Papyrus. This inevitably led to an argument as Sans attempted to dump at least twenty bottles of the stuff into the shopping cart. Their yelling match went on as the three of them stepped into line. A few people quickly abandoned the line they were in to escape the two scary-looking monsters who were shouting at each other. A typical shopping day for Chara.

Frisk and their mom were at the front of the line. Chara smiled in relief at this. If Frisk left before her, she wouldn't feel compelled to say hi. Frisk seemingly hadn't even noticed Chara or her guardians.

There was a display of cellphone charms next to the magazine rack. As the line moved at a snail's pace, Chara examined some of the charms. She rolled her eyes at the doe-eyed unicorns and hearts in all different colors. Who actually bought this stuff? Shaking her head, Chara grabbed one of the trashy magazines and started flipping through it.

When she looked up, Papyrus had pushed the cart to the front of the line. A nervous-looking cashier was ringing up their items.

Papyrus looked especially murderous as the cashier rang up all _thirty_ —the number had somehow increased while Chara wasn't looking—bottles of mustard. His plan to cut Sans off seemed to have fallen through. Seeing as Sans never actually won a shouting match against Papyrus, the latter must have just given in.

Chara put the magazine back. She was glad she'd stayed within her chocolate budget for the week. Unlike Sans, she had no desire to push Papyrus's buttons. Plus, she needed her chocolate. If Papyrus cut her off, she might throttle someone.

Frisk appeared to be dawdling near the entrance. They hadn't followed their mother out to the car.

Grumbling about Sans existing to try his patience, Papyrus paid the cashier and dumped the bags into the cart. Without waiting to see if Sans or Chara were following him, he stormed out of the market. He moved so quickly that he didn't seem to notice Frisk hanging out by the double doors. He wasn't merely his usual brand of angry. Papyrus looked so pissed off that Chara seriously worried he might leave without her and Sans.

“Aw, shit,” said Sans.

He teleported away, presumably to chase after Papyrus in the parking lot. Chara didn't know if he was intending to apologize or just make a bigger deal out of the whole thing.

Chara put her hands in her pockets and strode over to the entrance. She wasn't concerned about Sans and Papyrus's disagreement. They'd work it out. They always did.

She was hoping to be invisible—not an easy task in that bulky jacket—but Frisk turned their head to look at her. She paused, one foot extended over the threshold. Chara wasn't certain what she was supposed to do. Frisk was simply looking at her.

“What do you want, kid?” she said.

Frisk reached into their pocket and withdrew something. They extended their closed hand towards Chara, smiling mildly at Chara's irritated expression. They slowly opened their hand to reveal an object resting on their palm.

Chara stared. It was one of the cellphone charms from the display. A bright red heart.

“Thanks,” was all she could say.

She took the charm and held it in front of her face. It looked even cheesier up close. A cheap plastic trinket Chara would have never dreamed of buying. But she thanked Frisk again before slipping it into her pocket. If anyone else had given it to her, Chara would have laughed and chucked it out the nearest window.

Chara hurried out of the store. To her relief, the car was still in the parking lot. Papyrus hadn't left in a blaze of obscenities and screeching tires. Him and Sans were still there, the former unloading the bags into the back while Sans napped in the passenger seat.

Chara stuck her hand into her pocket and touched the charm. It really was such a dumb, pointless little gift. She didn't understand why Frisk had even bothered. It wasn't like they were best friends or anything.

She pulled the charm out and looked at it. But if it was so dumb and pointless, why was she blushing?


	6. Wounds

Chara stumbled into the apartment, her hand pressed against her side.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed out between her teeth.

She couldn't believe she'd been so careless. That had always been her problem: forgetting who she was. Sometimes the line between Chara the Human and Chara the Monster blurred and she was able to glimpse some alternate version of herself. But alas, there was no alternate version. Chara the Monster was a figment of her imagination. But the result of this momentary lapse was very real.

She stumbled over to the kitchen drawer. Her right hand was otherwise occupied, so she let her left do the work. Despite the pain oozing into her consciousness, Chara took her time getting the drawer open. She flinched at the dull squeak it made. Thankfully, the sound was relatively muted.

Chara stuck her hand into the drawer and felt around. She knew it was in there. _Shit_. What if Papyrus had decided to get started on his long-awaited sweater project? There was no way she was sneaking into his room. She would have preferred bleeding out.

Fortunately, Papyrus had continued to neglect his project. He still hadn't sewn up the hole in Chara's favorite sweater. After a minute of frantic searching in which Chara was sure she was being too loud, she found the unused sewing kit. Triumphant, she took both the kit and a fresh roll of duct tape from the drawer. She almost slammed it closed—she was so used to being loud just for the sake of pissing off Papyrus—but she instead slowly eased it shut.

Chara had been curious before, but now she finally got a good look at the injury. Luckily, it wasn't as bad as it felt or as damning as the blood loss seemed to suggest. Chara had been panicking, focused on getting home before she bled out on the sidewalk. Now that she actually paused to assess the damage, she realized that she'd been lucky. Her organs weren't falling out and she hadn't lost a quart of blood.

Nevertheless, sewing up the wound was no easy task. Chara had to grab a bottle of whiskey—Papyrus and Sans hated that stuff, but sometimes she indulged—to get her through it. The alcohol did wonders for the pain, but it also made her fingers unsteady as her brain went hazy. Chara was convinced she was going to die right there, half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter.

But somehow, Chara actually survived. Some might call it a miracle, but Chara was inclined to believe it was just dumb luck at work. Maybe all those medical dramas she'd binge-watched had taught her something.

Her head swimming, Chara let her hand fall from her side. Now that she wasn't in danger of bleeding out, she wanted to crawl into her bedroom and sleep. But as much as she wanted to move, her body just wouldn't. Chara wasn't sure if it was the whiskey or the wound. All she knew was that she felt like shit and no amount of effort could make her raise her arms or move her legs. She just sat in a chair at the kitchen table, her eyes half-closed.

“Chara?”

Chara raised her head at the sound of Sans' voice. He sounded so far away, like he was whispering her name at the end of a long tunnel. How much had she drunk? Or maybe it was the blood loss.

Sans stepped into the light. He'd noticed Chara sitting there, but he hadn't processed the full image. He now stopped, staring in mute horror at the scene before him. There was so much blood.

“Are you okay?” he said. “What happened?”

Chara let out a weak laugh. She was glad it was Sans who caught her. If it had been Papyrus, she never could have brought herself to lie. In her current state, she was incapable of it.

“Got mugged,” she said.

Sans teleported over to her. He might have been concerned, but he was still Sans. He wasn't the biggest fan of walking.

“Shit, are you alright?” he said. “Should I get Papyrus?”

Papyrus knew a lot about this sort of stuff. He might have acted downright callous at times, but he knew his way around a needle and thread. Back when Chara used to get bruised knees and black eyes just from playing by herself, Papyrus had been the one to patch her up. Sans had always been too queasy. The way humans could lose blood and just be fine freaked him out.

“No,” said Chara. “That's the last thing I fucking want. You know how he can be.”

Even if Papyrus didn't have one of his classic freak-outs, he'd probably still find the time to lecture her. She'd been out after dark, a definite no-no in Papyrus's book. She'd also been drinking, smoking, and engaging in less-than-wholesome activities with some less-than-wholesome individuals. Nothing strictly illegal, but they'd been doing things Papyrus wouldn't have approved of.

“Should we call the cops or something?” Sans said.

They both knew the answer to that. Chara didn't exactly have a spotless record. None of them did. Sans was the worst offender, with Chara coming in a close second. Even if this hadn't been the case, the police were bound to be skeptical of the resident monsters and their unofficially adopted daughter.

“Don't bother,” said Chara. “The only thing that fucker got was a broken wrist.”

She paused.

“And all of my chocolate money for this week,” she said.

Sans stared at her for a minute. He hadn't really been thinking when he suggested getting the cops involved. He'd just wanted to say something at least mildly helpful. He knew he should just be happy that Chara was alright. He was relieved, but Sans was also apprehensive. Was he overreacting or had Chara been a little more distant lately? It was like she'd started drifting away from him and Papyrus. He knew she needed her space, but this was different. This felt like she was retreating into herself.

Sans reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. He extended his hand, offering the money to Chara. It wasn't much. He'd blown most of it on mustard less than a day after Papyrus gave it to him. This was all that was left of his weekly allowance.

“Here,” he said.

Chara stared at the money for a second, then shook her head.

“You need that,” she said.

Sans put the money on the table. He knew that if Chara really wanted it, she wouldn't just leave it there. Strangely, he didn't hesitate. He didn't regret giving it away, even though he knew he'd have to wait a whole five days before Papyrus gave him anymore.

“No, you need it,” he said. “Come on, kid. Just take it. It's the least I can do.”

Chara didn't look at Sans. Sometimes she thought it would have been easier if Sans and Papyrus were cruel. It would have been hell, but she was sure she could have dealt with it a lot better. Cruelty was something she was used to, especially from teachers and people she'd once thought were on her side.

But even though they had their moments, Sans and Papyrus had never been cruel to her. They weren't the bullies who put dog shit in her backpack or the teachers who'd kept her from playing with the other kids.

Chara still had vivid memories of the time one of her teachers had forced her to stand outside during a particularly cold winter day because they didn't want “the monster kid” near everyone else. So Chara had been forced to wait outside while the other kids talked and laughed indoors. Sans and Papyrus had wrapped her up as best they could as soon as they got home. Papyrus had even made her some hot chocolate and ordered a pizza. It was one of the few times they'd eaten something other than pasta.

“Thanks,” said Chara.

She took the money and stuffed it into her pocket. She was surprised to find she could move her limbs again, but her movements were slow. She wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

Chara had surpassed carrying size a long time ago—at least for Sans—but he wasn't about to let that stop him. He hoisted her up by the shoulders and half-carried half-dragged her to her bedroom. It wasn't an easy task and it required far more effort than Sans had put into just about anything in his entire life. But he pressed on. Sans knew Chara was going to be alright. She was always alright, or so he told himself. Him and Papyrus had made sure of that.

He actually managed to get her into her bed. He was exhausted by the end of it, but he managed it. By that time, Chara had drifted into sleep. How she'd fallen asleep while Sans was hauling her to her bedroom was beyond him. She must have been completely wiped out after the night she'd had.

Sans sat down on the floor. He was reminded of the sleepovers him and Chara used to have. He'd done most of the sleeping while Chara made friendship bracelets—he still had all of those—and read books out loud. Good times. If only Chara hadn't decided she was too old for that sort of thing. If Sans thought hard enough, he could pinpoint the exact moment she'd started to drift away from them.

He leaned against the side of Chara's bed. He let out a bitter laugh.

“Fuck,” he said. “What are we doing? Me and Pap have no idea how to raise a kid. Shit, you're not even a kid anymore, are you? How the hell did you even survive this long?”

He shook his head. Sometimes he felt like him and Papyrus had done everything wrong. They had done everything wrong. But somehow Chara was still alive, even after all of their mistakes. Miraculous.

“You're a good kid,” said Sans. “I just wish you wouldn't give us so much shit.”

He chuckled. Sans could feel himself falling back asleep. Maybe he should have teleported out of Chara's bedroom, but he didn't. His head drooped against Chara's mattress. It was about time they had another sleepover.


	7. Most Important Person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm updating this again.

The topic of the essay was “Most Important Person in Your Life”.

Frisk clutched the paper to their chest, wondering if they should show Toriel. They'd been thinking about it a lot on the way home, weighing the pros and cons. They'd been working on this paper for days, writing and rewriting the required four pages. They'd spent a lot of time correcting flaws that weren't there and weeding out spelling and grammar mistakes they would have otherwise overlooked.

Sensing Frisk's presence, Toriel turned away from the stove. She was smiling, her cheeks red from the stove's heat and her apron stained with flour. She'd been baking again, using up all that baking soda they'd bought a few weeks ago.

“What is it, my child?” she said.

After a moment of contemplation, Frisk held out their finished essay. For better or for worse, they wanted Toriel to see it.

Toriel took the essay from them, a puzzled look on her face. She was used to Frisk being odd, but this was a different type of strange. Then again, Frisk had been cooping themselves up in their room a lot lately. Maybe this was what they'd been working on.

_The Most Important Person In My Life_ read the cover. Underneath the title was a hand-drawn illustration of a goat monster holding a human  baby . Due to their sub-par drawing skills, Frisk had gone for something decidedly abstract. It was mostly blank shapes and blobs, but the intention came across.

The teachers didn't blame Frisk for their sub-par performance. They instead chose to blame Frisk's upbringing. In the eyes of the school staff, that made perfect sense. After all, how could some kid raised by a monster be expected to perform on the same level as a normal student?  A decent level of education in such an environment just seemed ludicrous to them.  

Frisk had tried to communicate that this wasn't the case, that Toriel was an excellent teacher. Aware of how much Frisk liked to read and listen, Toriel had prioritized books—and the occasional audiobook—over everything else. She'd wanted to give Frisk the best education possible. Any struggles Frisk faced in the academic world had nothing to do with Toriel. But no one seemed to believe this.

Toriel flipped to the first page. There were more drawings in the margins, tiny little abstract goat monsters and human children squashed into almost every available blank spot on th page. The paragraph breaks were marked with drawings of pies.

It took Toriel a full twenty minutes to read the whole thing. It would have taken her ten, but she kept re-reading sentences.

“Oh Frisk,” she said.

She wiped a tear from her eye. Toriel didn't know what to say. She'd always known that Frisk loved her, but this was beyond anything Toriel had imagined. Admiration, respect, a trust that ran deeper than blood. Toriel could almost feel the emotions pulsing on the page.

She flipped back to the cover page. The teacher had scrawled a “B minus” in one corner of the page. Underneath the grade were some comments concerning Frisk's good—but not good enough—grasp of language and tone. But Toriel didn't care if Frisk repeated themselves too much or used confusing metaphors. The message presented in the essay was more than clear.

Toriel gave the rest of the essay back to Frisk, but she kept the cover page for herself. She put it on the fridge, next to a photograph from a recent vacation. She wanted to look at it every day and be reminded of all the love in their home.


	8. School Project

_Where the fuck are my cigarettes?_ Chara wondered.

Of course she couldn't find a pack when she really needed a good smoke. Papyrus had been cracking down on some of her bad habits—including smoking—so she'd had to be extra-careful lately. Although he rarely came into her room without permission, Chara feared he'd find the ten or so packs of cigarettes stashed all over her bedroom. So far he still had no clue, but there was always the chance Papyrus had raided while she at work.

She was digging through the top drawer of her dresser, tossing clothes onto the floor. She was making a mess, but screw it. She could clean later or possibly never. This was more important than a potential lecture from Papyrus about cleanliness.

Chara frowned. She'd noticed something stashed under a pile of dirty socks. It didn't look like a pack of cigarettes though. Was it worth investigating? Shrugging, Chara pulled the socks aside to see what hidden treasure she'd uncovered.

Her heart somehow managed to lift and sink at the same time. It was a surreal feeling that started in her chest and ended in her gut. Chara instantly recognized the sheet of paper, even though she hadn't seen it in years. But this wasn't something Chara was likely to forget.

_My Family_ read the top of the paper in large childish letters. A  class project from her middle school days. Her school attendance had been pretty on-and-off for most of her life, culminating in expulsion at the age of fifteen. Those years were the longest Chara had ever stayed in school. She actually had fond memories of th em.

But she also had not-so-fond memories. Like the time she got into a fist fight with another kid and was almost expelled. Chara had tried to explain that it was the other kid's fault, but the principal didn't believe her. He didn't _want_ to believe her, as Chara had come to realize upon reflection.

However, Papyrus and Sans never doubted Chara's story. It was with this in mind that Chara tackled this class project. She was supposed to write at least two pages, but she'd settled for one. Rules weren't her style.

Chara read everything she'd written, even though she could have recited it from memory. A single paragraph.

_I don't have a normal family. My two dads_ (she'd crossed that out and tried again)  _brothers Sans and Papyrus take care of me. People say bad stuff about them all the time and that's okay. They don't care. I'm the only human who actually matters to them. I guess I hate that sometimes, but I also kind of like it. It doesn't matter that we're not the same. I've never cared and they've never cared. They're my family. I love_ (crossed out)  _like_ (crossed out)  _tolerate_ (crossed out)  _love_ (underlined)  _them. And I don't give a shit_ (crossed out)  _crap_ (crossed out)  _fuck_ (underlined)  _what anyone at this fucking_ (underlined)  _school says._

There was an F scrawled at the top of the page, along with a series of comments written in neat cursive. Chara had never shown this paper to Papyrus or Sans, but she couldn't bring herself to throw it away. So she'd just shoved it in a drawer underneath a pile of socks, shutting it out of her mind for years.

Holding it in her hand for the first time in years, Chara felt a pang of guilt. She wondered if maybe she should lay off the cigarettes for a while. Not so much for herself, but for Papyrus. It was the least she could do.


End file.
